After Losing My Legs I Learned My Fiancé Had a Fake Heart Chapter 11

After Losing My Legs I Learned My Fiancé Had a Fake Heart Chapter 11

Late that evening, my phone rang. It was Simon. His voice was raw with tears. “Vera, I know I was wrong. Can you please come home?”

I hung up and blocked the number.

The next morning, Simon appeared in the courtyard of my little house. My mother summoned a full security team to throw him out.

By nightfall, it was raining. I peered through the window. He was still on his knees in the same position, soaked through.

Expressionless, I reached up and pulled the curtains shut.

The following day, Simon collapsed at the gate. I called an ambulance.

The paramedic asked about our relationship. I looked at him with cold, empty eyes. “I don’t know

him.”

Simon was airlifted back to the States. I heard the nerve damage in his legs was severe. My mother

clapped her hands. “Karma.”

That Saturday, Simon was back. He was in a wheelchair now, with a dozen medical staff hovering

around him.

His close friends pleaded with me. “Please, Vera. Just see him. The doctors are saying it’s bad-he could lose his legs too. He needs rest, and instead he’s out here destroying himself.”

“Come on. Simon got played by that woman. We all saw how he was with you, all those years. Can’t you just give him one more shot?”

“You already lost your legs. Are you really gonna make sure Simon loses his too?”

I dialed the police and reported a trespassing nuisance.

The next day. The day after that. Simon came every single day. He sent his friends back to the States and sat below my window, hour after hour, his gaze fixed on me.

Sometimes he could see me at the table, reading quietly, just like I used to at the estate. It felt like any second I’d rush downstairs, throw myself into his arms, and pout about why he’d taken so long.

But more often, he only caught a glimpse of the curtain’s edge. He was greedy. Even that was

enough to make it worth it.

But the pain in his legs was a constant, ticking clock. He knew he couldn’t hold out much longer. He drank in the sight of his girl, burning her into the deepest corner of his memory.

On the sixth day, Simon didn’t come. He left a bouquet at the door and a note with a card, “Vera, be happy.”

My best friend called me, venting hard. “Chloe went crazy. Her mother picked her up.”/

“God, listen to me-not ‘foster mother.’ That’s her real mother.”

“Her mom saw what a wreck she was and completely lost it. Now Chloe’s running her mouth, telling everyone you all abused her. Please. If she was so abused, how was she always so polished and pampered? Only those two idiots ever bought her act.”

“Derek’s a mess. The only thing he can still move is his mouth. They say he keeps calling your name, clutching his phone so tight the nurses can’t pry it out, begging them to dial you.”

“Don’t you dare pick up. You spent your entire childhood taking care of him-practically raised him yourself. Then he finally takes over the company and repays you like this? He’ll just guilt you into being his full-time nurse again, and you know it.”

After I hung up, my bank account flashed with a massive international transfer. The memo: [Vera’s birthday gift.]

I didn’t keep a cent. I donated all of it to Sunnyside Children’s Home.

A few weeks later, a package arrived from the kids-watercolor paintings of us running through sunshine, and a message scrawled at the bottom, [We hope Miss Vera’s legs get better. We’re waiting to fly kites with you.]

My eyes stung. I looked down at the street, where my mother was escorting a world-class specialist

to the door.

This time, I didn’t fight it.

I’m going to stand again. There are people still waiting for me.